Everything the same
by Evil's Sidekick
Summary: Dean wakes up in a reality where he's still an okay brother and is engaged to Castiel. He should have known that even in a perfect world, his story would end up in a cemetery, staring at a headstone while it all shattered around him.  Dean/Cas.


**A/N: Howdy, folks. Like I may have mentioned earlier, the title is taken from Stephen King's Lisey's Story. Just a heads-up, if you're expecting fluff: don't.**

If it was a dream, it was a good one.

It had all the elements of a dream; that familiarity in sensations that had no way of being so, the sense of unquestioned _rightness_.

Dean shifted, and burrowed deeper into his pillow.

Then, the instincts awakened.

His eyes snapped open to meet a pair of surprised blue ones. He tensed, reaching automatically under his pillow for his gun.

It wasn't there.

"I'm sorry, babe." The familiar low voice said even as Dean stared in utter shock. "Did I wake you?"

"What?" Dean said, sounding groggy and idiotic. Then, "_Cas_?"

The other man nodded, cupping Dean's face with his hand with a tenderness that unnerves the hunter. "Go back to sleep, honey."

It wasn't the first time Dean had dreamt of Castiel, but even his subconscious tended to show a little caution. He had never even _imagined_ the level of sheer devotion reflected on the angel's face right now.

He hadn't dared to.

So he can't help it when his eyes widen at the endearment, can't help the way his entire body tenses.

Castiel kissed him softly on the lips and Dean felt the tight knot of anxiety unwind a little. Castiel smiled, and whispered, "good night, love."

Dean decided to go with it, to ignore the confusion and savor the moment. It wasn't often he had this level of peace even in his dreams.

He closed his eyes, the image of almost-reverence and utter infatuation seared into his mind. He wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to remember when he woke up.

"_Come on, Dean, wake up. Wake up! It's me, Sam and-"_

*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)

The dream doesn't end when he wakes up.

He staggers out of bed, and not-Castiel shifts in his sleep and murmurs his name.

Dean had splashed his face several times with ice-cold water from the tap by the time he notices the ring on his left hand.

"You're up early."

He whips around, holding his hand behind him like a child with a secret. Castiel is standing there, eyes heavy with sleep. He rubs at his eyes, offering Dean a sleepy smile.

"Yeah." Dean manages. The ring seems to scorch his finger, burning like a beacon, like a flame. "Uh, couldn't sleep."

Instantly, Cas' face clouds. "Oh, sweetheart." He steps forward and Dean's foot searches for space to step back and doesn't find any. "Those nightmares?"

Trapped, Dean nods.

Cas sighs, and leans forward. Dean instinctively leans back.

Castiel ignores this, and kisses him firmly, lips moving in a way that make half-forgotten memories rise to the surface.

Before he knew it, Dean was kissing him back, tongue exploring desperately. He slammed the other man against the wall, mouths devouring each other urgently.

They barely make it to the bedroom.

"_Wake up, dammit! What happened, Dean, what went wrong? Because I-"_

*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)

Sam smiled knowingly when he's told. "I _knew_ it!" He crows.

Sam's girlfriend –looks a lot like Ruby, but says her name's Jane. Dean's screwed over enough to let it slide- rolls her eyes. "The whole Paris Hilton act's a total turn-off, Sammy. Congrats, kiddo." She adds, to Dean.

Dean nods in acknowledgment.

Sam pouts, but still looks excited. "That's awesome, man. Really." He tells his brother. "I mean, I knew the two of you were pretty serious, but…" he shakes his head. "Good on you."

Dean has had enough experience with alternate realities to know that this is all he can get out of Sam. By now, he's convinced that that's what this is – an alternate reality more perfect than anything he's had before. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he knows that he's probably suspended by his wrists in a coma, with some creature or the other feeding off him.

He doesn't give a damn. Here, he's a good brother, a garage mechanic and is engaged to a very human Castiel.

It's the perfect lie.

"_It's insane, man. Bobby's been calling in every damn hunter on the planet, no one's got a clue. And Cas…Cas isn't holding up all that well. It's been weeks-"_

*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)

He wakes up one night to find Cas placing an envelope on the bedside drawer.

Cas looks rueful. "Didn't want to wake you."

Groggy, not quite awake. It's been some time since he had to be alert as soon as he woke up. Now, he actually has time to take off his shoes before going to sleep. "Where're you going?"

Cold chills grip his heart as he spots the packed bags. "Are you…leaving me?"

The words sound oddly pathetic and Dean almost winces. It doesn't make the situation less terrifying, though.

His fiancé chuckles, as if he finds this hilarious. Dean lets go of the breath he had been holding. "Yeah, right. I told you, I've some work in Sri Lanka. I'll be back by Tuesday."

Dean remembers the UN seal on the bags, on everything, and realizes that Cas is not, in fact, a tax accountant.

He kisses Dean on the forehead. "Take care of yourself." He whispers.

"You, too." He takes a long look at the features carved across his heart and groans. "God, you're gonna make this a chick-flick moment, aren't you?"

Cas laughs, and punches him. Dean falls asleep to Cas' soft caresses and dreams of swirls of azure and shades of gold reflected on calm waters.

When he wakes up, Cas has left.

"_Forgive me, Father. I…I shall surrender to Raphael. I shall not disobey. Please…just bring Dean back."_

"_Forget it, Cas. He wasn't listening before and He isn't listening now."_

"_But-"_

*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)

Ruby – Jane- is amused. "God, you're so whipped."

She's sitting on the counter of his little brother's kitchen, eating Lucky Charms out of the box. She's wearing nothing but a sweatshirt that reads STANFORD in big, bold letters and it's a concession to how right she is about her statement that he doesn't even feel mildly attracted to her. Or maybe the memories are still too strong.

Perfect world, he reminds himself. No demons.

"It's kinda pathetic." She continues, crunching noisily. "The two of you are so co-dependent on each other."

Dean flips her off, and she grins.

"So, I'm thinking, since you're already corny enough to bag someone like Cas, a chocolate bouquet from that new place near Lawrence would be a perfect welcome-back present. He'll faint. You know what a chick he is around chocolate and flowers."

"Right." He stands up, moves around the room. It's cluttered in a very un-Sam way, so he guesses his brother really like Jane. Which was just plain _sad_. "Because we've been together for…"

"Six years." She supplies, smiling ironically. "And still as corny as day one, of- Dean?"

He barely hears her. He's transfixed with the photo he's holding in his hands; he can all but feel the world slow down around him, and the focus of the universe center on the moment.

It was a picture of them.

Or rather, it was one taken when they were completely unaware of it. It's set in a bar, dark and somewhat seedy, and the lighting is crappy. A bowl has upturned, scattering peanuts everywhere.

Photo Dean and photo Cas look completely oblivious to all of that.

Dean looks almost amused, almost embarrassed, as if some part of him is aware that it's a public place full of perverts, but the predominating expression on his face can only be described as smitten. Cas is practically straddling his lap, hands entwined roughly in blonde hair. His expression mirrors Dean, only there' not even a hint of self-consciousness. In fact, he looks as if he wants to eat Dean alive.

Mostly-real Dean feels his heart shudder. He flips over the picture, and in Sam's immaculate handwriting, it says '_Dean and Cas: July 4__th__, 2005. Get a room, guys.'_

Just that.

"He says it's bad." He says casually, but his voice cracks. "One of his co-workers got shot the day before."

And just like that, the barriers crash down and the nerve-wracking anxiety and flat-out terror of the past few days comes pouring out in Sam's apartment in front of his girlfriend. The tears spill hot and fast and he can't fucking _believe_ that he's come to this point, but he's walking around half-dead with worry anyway so how could it matter?

Jane silently wraps her arms around him. She doesn't say anything even in the aftershocks, when he pulls on his jacket and the mask of indifference. She just looks sad, and so he leaves without quite saying goodbye.

"_He's gonna do jack, Cas. We're on our own. Right now, Dean's going to have to wing it, wherever the hell he is."_

*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)

When Cas returns, the living room is covered with flowers and chocolates on every available surface and is attacked by a desperate fiancé.

The kiss is rough and welcoming, hungry and gentle and Dean feels the accumulated frustration dissolve as he shoves Cas against the wall.

"I take it I was missed?" Cas gasps as Dean bites gently on the curve of his throat.

Dean growls in reply.

"_You boys've been drooping around his bed long enough. If you want to help, make yourself useful."_

"_Doing what?"_

"_By getting that bitch face off, for starters. D'you think this would've been what Dean wanted?"_

"_I don't know, let's ask him, won't-"_

*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)

The picnic is Cas' idea.

After much eye rolls, complaints and near-insults on Dean's part, Cas gets his way. That's how they end up in the meadow, carrying actual wicker baskets Cas picked up from God knows where and Dean observes that he has never felt any gayer than this.

Cas grins evilly at this.

Despite himself, though, Dean's impressed. The meadow's private, closed-off by the woods and there's just the one footpath leading to it.

They go alone, on a Sunday afternoon. The oaks filter the sunlight, dividing it to separate rays that fall gently on the green grass.

It's there that Cas tells him about his job- the risks, the constant danger and above all, the games he has to play to just make a difference. He's bending over backwards trying to keep both parties at war happy so that he can have the clearance to help the civilians and how close he is to snapping.

"But that's the problem, how am I supposed to transport meds and supplies if all my storage and funds go towards weapons and God knows what else those bastards order?" Cas drags a hand through his unruly hair, pacing angrily. Watching him, Dean identifies the indestructible part of Cas that will always be an Angel of the Lord to the purest sense of the word, always obsessed with doing good, making a difference in any scale possible.

His throat constricts, and for a second, he stands in the In Between that separates what was and what could have been. The he blinks, the dream re-aligning itself and Cas is staring at him with hurt, angry eyes.

He shrugs, a half-forgotten gesture from a past life. "Is it worth it?"

For a second, Cas is confused.

Then, he gets it. A smile illuminates his face, curving his lips upwards. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

Afterwards, they sit in silence, Cas on Dean's lap, hands clasped. Dean's looks down at his lover and memorizes the moment, when the sunlight catches Cas' upturned face, caresses his closed eyelids and his expression of contentment. Already, he has a gnawing fear at the back of his mind, a half-formed premonition of tragedy that he doesn't want to examine too closely, lest it come true.

He closes his eyes, and knows that this moment here would be what he looked upon as reality from now on. His ring seems to burn on his finger again.

"I love you," he whispers into Cas' hair.

Blue eyes meet hazel. "Love you too."

"_So that's the plan? Sitting here and staring at him for the rest of eternity?"_

"_You got a better one?"_

"_I'm not leaving until he wakes up."_

"_Idjits."_

*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)

It's on a clear Monday morning that the phone rings.

"Dean Winchester?"

Already, that unnamed fear he pushed back with such force is scrabbling away underneath his skin, struggling to be set free. "Yeah?"

"Mr. Winchester, it is with our deepest sympathy that we deliver this news." A pause. "Mr. Winchester, your fiancé, Castiel, is dead."

A beat. Somewhere far off, a car horn wails. He has been sealed in a glass room with no air. "What?"

"Our HRFC spokesperson died yesterday, at 1645 hours."

"How?" The words barely pass his lips.

"His quarters were bombed. He would have made it, had he not gone back in to pull out a colleague. That…that was when the second bomb went off."

In his mind's eye, he sees it in slow-mo; the hesitation in the run, the yell, and the man in the trench coat turning around and running back into the flames.

_Mr. Winchester, you fiancé is dead._

He hangs up.

*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)

The service id short, and only he, Sam, Jane and a cluster of UN representatives are present. It is there that he meets Jake, the man Cas died saving.

At the introduction, Sam looks uneasy, like he's worried that Dean would flyoff the handle. But he doesn't. He barely raises his head.

During the service Sam watches his brother. He sees the way Dean's shoulders are squared defensively, the way his fists don't unclench at any point, the firmly pressed lips. Dean has his game face on so tight the cracks just may kill him.

*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)

It breaks clean in the middle of the week, when Dean pauses mid-conversation, turns around and walks out of the house.

Jane finds him on his knees on the porch and kneels beside him. As he shakes with silent sobs, she wraps her arms around him and curses a God she never believed in.

*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)

The days pass in bursts of light that Dean is barely aware of through the stifling veil of pain. It feels as if someone, having butchered his heart, is now pulling his lungs out.

The pain makes him choke, makes his throat burn. It stains the sink scarlet.

*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)

He still sees Cas sometimes, on the latter half of a bottle, reflected on the surface so that he doesn't even look before he swallows.

After a certain amount of drink, however, he stares at Cas and feels his heart breaking all over again.

He lies on his (theirtheirtheir) bed, an assortment of bottles lying around him like a halo and realizes that this is how it will be forever.

In a perfect world, there are no crossroads deals.

Yet more drinks later, he thinks he begins to see.

*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)

_See what, the voice booms._

_Light. Blinding, white._

"_Where am I?"_

_The In Between._

_He understands. Not reality, not the dream. "Was it real?"_

_Reality is a matter of perception. Did you think it was?_

"_Partly, I guess. Some stuff…they were real enough." _

_And do you understand?_

"_I…I think I do."_

*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)

The light overhead is equally bright. He blinks.

"Dean?" A voice asks, instantly. "Oh my- he's awake!"

He opens his mouth. "Sammy?"

The voice is dry, unused.

Sam's face hovers before him. He's grinning. "Dude, you were out for weeks. We freaked out."

It felt longer.

Dean sits up, or tries to. His brother helps.

That's when Cas appears. "Dean."

His heart screams, shaking out of its stasis. He ignores it, and stares at the angel steadily. "Cas."

There is a question in the angel's eyes.

Dean closes his, and a memory of pure joy and sunlight falling on mahogany hair and a wedding ring, of total and utter love, assails him.

Even in the perfect world, we find quiet tragedy.

He understands.

Dean re-opens his eyes. Castiel takes a small, shocked step backwards, face crumpling with very human emotions like confusion, betrayal and hurt.

Dean's heart is once again numb. His answer is no.

**A/N: I just tortured my favorite couple of all time for over 3000 words. The least you could do is leave a review. If you got this far, that is.**

**Further note: Jane is the chick Ruby was possessing. I was watching an old episode, and there it was: her name. I had to use that, didn't I?**

**Final note: I have no idea what I mean by the last sentence. Sometimes I get carried away. Interpret it in any way you wanna, 'cause I'm awesome like that.**

**Thoughts?**


End file.
